Life in Colour
by pyxie
Summary: Life is achromatic until people meet their soulmates, then they see the world for how it really looks. Dean Winchester is convinced he'll live his life alone. Until one innocuous Saturday, he meets Castiel Novak. Destiel AU (Idea found on Tumblr)


_A/N: Hello my loves! This is going to be a comparatively short fic. I got the idea from a tumblr post that I saw about people seeing in black and white until meeting their soulmates. I've never lived in New York, and I've only been there once. So please bear with me, that would be much appreciated. I mean, I learned quite a bit while I was there. Getting lost in a new city is the best way to learn it as long as you have people you know in the area and you're completely safe about it. I was not. Don't do what I did. I had nobody and I got super lost. And my orchestra conductor called me and was absolutely livid that I vanished for several hours. Anyway! On with the fic! —Pyxie xx_

Black and white. The world is bleak and boring in its basic contrasts of light and a-chromaticism. "Find your soulmate", people say as if trying to console the bleakness that they don't have to endure because, oh guess what, they're in love and don't have to see without colour like those without love. There are people who will live their entire lives without meeting their soul mates. And Dean Winchester is beginning to feel as though he'll be one of those people.

He's been told many times that he has the most beautiful eyes. A lovely light green in the morning sun. Brown around the edges. Green eyes are hard to come by, he's been told. But what does green look like? Sure, he knows that it's a combination of blue and yellow. But what does blue look like? Someone once told him that yellow feels like the sunshine and sounds like an infant's laughter. But a feeling is not a colour. He's not a synaesthete . Green. His eyes. They're a nice shade of grey. In all honesty, that's all he can think about them.

And another crazy fucking thought. How do people teach art if they can't even see in colour? How does this happen? And why? What crazy people were like, "Ah, yes. I can't see colours, but lemme teach this painting class. Class, this is orange." But clearly to everyone else it's purple. And it's the weirdest fucking thing that the students just drink that shit up and say, "Yes, that must be orange, because this person who has more experience with colours than I do is teaching me. Ergo, correct."

No.

Dean hates this life in black and white. Can't stand it. When he was younger, it had been perfectly fine. But then his friends started meeting their special someones. Their-infinitely-more-significant-than-most-people-others. And now at the age of twenty-nine, almost fucking thirty, Dean Winchester spends his life alone and without any special someone because he's no one's soulmate and probably never will be. Fantastic.

He stares at his ceiling. The painter had told him various colours that he never even recognised and said that they would go well with the rest of his colour scheme. Dean Winchester can't see colours so Dean Winchester doesn't care about colour schemes. It could clash till the cows come home, and he would just be ecstatic to see it after meeting his soulmate. Periwinkle is the colour of his walls, his carpet is beige, his ceiling is eggshell. In all honesty, eggshell looks white in his non-coloured vision. Barely grey. And he's fine with that. The hallways are sage. A kind of green. The kitchen is charcoal. Grey. He understands that and sees it in its usual hue. He likes it.

But now that his Sasquatch of a brother has moved out, his three bedroom home is too big for him. All he wants is company. Not his usual evening dander, but someone a bit more permanent. Saturday morning seems like a good morning to put out an advertisement, so why the hell not.

He pushes himself out of bed to get washed up and dressed. Sometimes he wonders if people look at the colours of his clothes and just know that he's still lonely—single. That he's still single. Single. Doesn't always equate loneliness. Usually. Sometimes it does. But not in this situation. Why would Dean Winchester be lonely?

Dean plops down at his dining room table with his cup of coffee and the newspaper. Personal ads have always been his favourites. Someone lost a pet. People looking for dates. Always the search for soulmates. Always tragic. Someone found a—wait. He took a deep breath and looked up at his ceiling to readjust his sight. Just in case he misread this ad on accident. He looks back down at the paper. No, he had been right the first time. Someone found a 'Cat Snake'. The photo next to it is a ferret. The ad is as follows:

Found: Snake Cat. Dry fur. Warm creature. Eats cat food but isn't a cat. Someone please claim it. It's stinking up my house.

Dean decides that's enough of the personal ads for the morning. He opens up his laptop and opens chrislist. He sips some of his coffee as he contemplates how he wants to write this. Rent is of no problem to him. But he really doesn't want students living with him. He needs normal hours that someone will be awake. He's dealt with the insomnia that usually accompanies the early twenties of life. And he doesn't want someone too old. And having a person of attracting genders always creates complications. Best stick with dudes. Straight dudes. Or dudes that at least say that they're straight. Dean says that he's straight. And that may or may not be the truth. The world may never know. After much thinking and an entire cup of coffee, his advertisement runs rather smoothly.

"Looking for a roommate. Late 20s, early 30s preferred. Rent is affordable. $1100 a month. Utilities and internet included. Looking for someone organised who doesn't mind Supertramp and Led Zeppelin. Not looking for a soulmate. Just a roommate. Please call or e-mail me, Dean Winchester."

Not too bad. And of course, he'll conduct interviews to make sure that the right person lives with him. Truly, $1100 in Brooklyn is not bad at all. Not that he really cares about money. Not that he needs to. Not that it matters in the entire sphere of existence.

He closes the lid to his Macbook and grabs his keys. Time to wander around aimlessly. He hops on the subway to Manhattan. Maybe Greenwich Village. Maybe Central Park. Maybe Highline Park. Maybe go to a music venue or something sweet like that. Although, Dean will admit that he isn't the biggest fan of modern music. Some of it's okay, as long as he didn't listen to the radio. But he doesn't like listening to people talk about how they'll never find somebody. Or about how women doesn't know what consent really means. Robin Thicke is a big dick. How about that.

The original reason Dean moved to New York is because he thought that with so many people in a single place, how could he not meet his soul mate? But after almost six years here, he's beginning to give up hope. It's not like he's just going to bump into someone and bam! colour!

Dean sighs and pulls his phone out his pocket after climbing out onto 96th. He's checking to see if he's gotten any mail about his ad. None so far. He thinks he hears someone call his name and he glances around, but doesn't stop walking. And rams straight into somebody.

"Jesus!" A plethora of things fall from the stranger's arms and he is instantly on the ground to help pick everything up. "Geez, man. I am so god damn sorry. I should have walked where I was looking—er—the other way around."

"Don't worry about. It's all pretty unbreakable stuff." The stranger says. Dean hands him back his books and they lock eyes.

Colour floods Dean's vision and he gasps. The first thing he realises is that the stranger has some penetrably coloured eyes and he finds them absolutely alluring. The second thing he notices is that the stranger licks his lips and full out grins. And Dean has never been happier.

"Castiel Novak." Castiel looks at his books with a sheepish grin. "I would offer to shake your hand, but it looks like they're full at the moment."

Dean laughs and shakes his head. "Dean Winchester. It would be my pleasure to help you to wherever you're going…?" He offers quietly.

"If you'd like." Castiel offers a few books to Dean, who gladly accepts them. And finally, finally, he gets a good look at Castiel's face. Young, with smile lines and crow's feet. Hands down the most handsome man that Dean's ever laid eyes on. If only he could discern just what colour his eyes are, that would be amazing.

Castiel smiles, and his eyes light up in a way that's completely new to Dean. He's been with people who would smile, but the sun would never shine on their eyes quite like this. And maybe it's the colour aspect that adds so much to it, but he finds Castiel to be absolutely beautiful in the morning sun.

"So, Cas. Where am I helping you to?" Dean shifts the surprisingly large and even more surprisingly heavy books in his arms and follows Cas uptown.

"Cas…" Castiel repeats and he looks at Dean in awe. "I like that." He clears his throat. "We're going to Columbia to drop these off. I've had them for much too long."

"Oh, are you a student?" That earns Dean a light-hearted laugh.

"No, I'm much too old to be a student. I'm not even teaching. I just like…reading… It transports me to different times and places. And the characters are just so diverse, and I find so much comfort in…" Castiel's voice drifts off as he realises what he's saying. "You must be thinking that you found a better soulmate. Instead of a bookworm…"

"And you think I'm not a bookworm?" Dean raises his eyebrows just as they cross 110th. "My favourite author is Vonnegut. I've read Homer's _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. Personally, I can't stand Beowulf. I think that Shakespeare is amazing, but I'm tired of all of his work because it's so overdone. Dante's _Divine Comedy_ is amazing, and every time I read the Inferno, I hope to never go to Hell. The fact that you're a bookworm is awesome, Cas."

Castiel has remained quiet, contemplating Dean in silent awe during his monologue. "Thank you." He glances over at Dean and in that moment, Dean realises what colour Cas' eyes are. Blue, like the sky, like the ocean, but infinitely more beautiful and intense than either of the two. So he suspects. They stop in front of the Columbia University library and Dean shuffles on his feet.

"So…uhm…did you have plans for the day? Or are you free? Because if you're free, it'd be nice to get to know you." Dean stumbles over his words and he knows that his cheeks are tinted in a blush. He can feel it on the tips of his ears and down the back of his neck. He glances down at the books his in arms. _Chaos_ by James Gleick. "We can talk about how amazing James Gleick is. And I my love for this book…" He clears his throat and mentally slaps himself for rambling.

"Incredible." Castiel smiles, and stars above, Dean can really get used to seeing him smile more often. Everyday even. Or maybe, that's exactly what finding a soulmate feels like. "I'm not busy after this. Come with me to drop off my books?" Cas suggests.

Dean nods and follows him up the steps to the book drop off. In the stack that he's holding, apart from _Chaos_, there's a textbook on thermal dynamics, a textbook about astronomical sciences that looks pretty fascinating, and a book on painting. Dean slides the books in after Cas and they look at each other.

Castiel is looking at him in wonder, and Dean knows that his expression is probably a mirror. "I apologise. I didn't think today would be the day I meet my soulmate. I'm a bit taken off guard." Cas rubs a hand down his face. "Let's go somewhere."

"Okay." And before Dean can ask where, he's being dragged down to the subway and downtown.

"I've always wanted to go to Museum of Modern Art. I've lived here for years, and never went…" Castiel looked at his shoes nervously. "I'm sorry I didn't confer with you first. We can…go somewhere else." But he looked at Dean so hopefully, and Dean never would have said no, and to that face, he could never say no.

"I haven't been there either. Been here for six years. Let's go." Cas looked relieved and he pressed his shoulder against Dean's and aligns their thighs to touch as well. Their first contact is much more intimate than Dean could have hoped for.

"Thank you." Cas looks up and folds his hands carefully in his lap. Dean watches in amazement at how graceful his soulmate is and sighs contentedly. The rest of the ride downtown is made in companionable silence.

—- —- —-

Towards the end of the night, Dean has learned an incredible amount about Castiel. The main things being that he owns one second-hand bookshop in Soho and another in the Financial District that apparently is doing surprisingly well. Castiel is a huge art enthusiast, as he stood in front of paint splatters for a whole twenty minutes and then launched into a huge monologue about how it symbolises the artist's detached and aching soul. His sister, Anna, who is younger, but equally as brilliant. Their Catholic, sheltered upbringing and how Cas and Anna ran away to escape Arizona.

And Dean suck it all up. Everything that Cas would say, Dean thought was absolutely fascinating. Not just because they're soulmates, but because seeing passion light up Cas' eyes when he talks about something he loves is absolutely awe-inspiring. And when he would talk about his sister, he would come to have a quiet reservation, but a sort of proudness that he tried his best to not make too obvious.

And generally, Cas is a quiet, shy, slightly awkward guy, but can actually be quite wordy the instant someone starts talking about physics. Which is why Dean's area of expertise comes in. When MoMA closed at 8 o'clock, the two ended up going for coffee at Pax midtown on 8th and 42nd. And it was good. Dean's never even heard of it, but apparently, it's one of Cas' favourite places in the city for a cheap cup of coffee and a sandwich.

And now, standing outside of the subway station back to Brooklyn, it's time for the two soulmates to say a brief farewell. Cas looks down at their hands, that had attached at some point in time and hadn't let go. Barely to eat, only to run to the restroom and only when the streets were so packed that walking next to each other was impossible.

"Come visit my shop sometimes. I'm almost always there. And if I'm not, Kevin or Charlie will let you know where I am." Kevin and Charlie are two of Cas' bookkeepers that are students struggling to pay for their degrees. And Cas helps them.

Another thing that Dean doesn't quite understand is how much money Cas has. Or if it's even a lot. But it seems to be enough to help out a few students with private university tuition. And Dean doesn't want to ask because, how rude.

"I'd love to. Lemme give you my cell number." They exchange numbers and the air gets a little tense. Should they hug? Kiss? Shake hands? Cas decide for them. He leans forwards and presses the smallest of kisses to Dean's cheek.

"I'll talk to you soon, Dean Winchester." And then into the crowd he goes. And down the stairs Dean goes. He touches a hand to his cheek. It's for the best to delete that roommate ad.

This is life in colour and he loves it.

—- — —-

The weeks and months melted by easily and soon it was winter. Dean looked down at the snow and at how beautiful it was. How it covered and the dirt and grime and soot and grossness of the city. And then it turns to slush and turns brown and he hates it. But still, when it first falls down in fat snowflakes and the Hudson is frozen and the city is clean and pristine. It's perfect. But he can't help but think of the world before he met Cas when he sees snow. The buildings are a grey without the blue sky and yellow sun. Only the bright yellow taxis remind Dean that he still has colour in his life.

Cas waddles out next to the ice and grips the sides. His nose is pink with the cold and his black hair is covered with a green beanie. "Dean…How do you…I can't…" Cas places a single skate on the ice, determines that it's too much to handle, and then pulls back.

With a smile, Dean makes a graceful turn and goes back to Cas and extends his hands. "I would have thought that you would be one of the people to know how to ice skate. I guess I was wrong."

"This isn't funny, Dean. I've lived my life in isolation."

Dean freezes and looks at Cas in shock. "Ice-olation." And then he laughs, loud and hard. "You're punny."

"Your sense of humour goes unappreciated." Cas places his hands on Dean's and steps out onto the ice. "Now, hold me up."

"You'll get the hang of it. I'll hold on until you feel comfortable." Dean skates backwards just as easily as he would skate forwards and holds Cas' hands tight.

In the lights around the rink, Dean's green eyes glow unbelievably bright and they stand out even more on his pink cheeks. Joy fills Cas' heart instead of the pseudo irritation that he had been feeling previously. "You're an ice-hole."

Dean laughs and the motion almost sends Cas spiralling across the ice. "You've got a lot of puns inside of you today."

"Yes, nerves do that to me." Cas lets go of Dean's hands when he feels safe enough to go on his own. But then immediately links on to Dean's arm as soon as they're side-by-side. "Don't let me fall." They've already been around the rink once or twice, but Castiel is still nervous about going off on his own.

"Part of learning is falling." Apparently, Dean's philosophy goes unappreciated yet again, with the done-face that Cas gives him.

"I don't like that idea. I don't wanna fall."

And another thing that Dean's learned these last few months is that Cas is one stubborn son of a bitch. "You've got me. I won't let you fall." And then a kid, maybe seven or eight, comes crashing into Dean, and he can usually recover pretty well, but Cas pulled them both down. He looks up into blue eyes. "I'm glad I broke your fall."

"Me too." Cas bent his head down slightly, and pressed his lips to Dean's. They had fallen in love easily. But the words haven't come out quite yet. But they're doing well with each other. And it's good.

Castiel stands up shakily, holds onto the handrail and pulls up Dean.

"I'm so sorry!" The child looks at them. "I didn't mean to make you fall!"

"Don't worry about it, kiddo. We're fine." Dean places a mittened hand on the kid's head comfortingly.

The kid beams and then skates off to his mom. Cas watching, crestfallen. "That kid skates better than I do."

Dean turns back to Castiel and takes him by the hand. "Cas, that kid has probably skated way more than you. And for your first time, you're doing amazing." He kisses Cas' nose and then pulls him along. "Now, even if someone bumps into me, I won't let you fall. I'll fall instead."

Castiel grips onto Dean's hand and lets him lead him around the rink. "I don't want you to fall." He murmurs quietly.

"I've already fallen for you, Cas." He mumbles back.

They freeze. And then they looked at each other. Castiel holds tight to Dean's elbows and pulls him closer. "That was a kid."

"It was a stack of books, really." Dean glances down at the ice, but Cas doesn't let him. He bends himself at the waist to meet Dean's averted eyes. "I've fallen too…" Cas sucks in a deep breath. "I love you."

Dean's breath stops in his lungs. His throat constricts. His body becomes rigid. And his mind speeds through a million thoughts. He loses his voice and he can only smile. He leans forwards and presses his lips to Castiel's.

Dean gains control of his voice again. "You love me?"

With a smile, Cas touches Dean's cheek where he had first kissed him. "Of course. I didn't think it would need saying."

Dean hasn't felt true happiness like this before. Not like this. "Do you…wanna get off this ice and go somewhere?"

Castiel tries, to no avail to backwards skate them back to the entrance. "But this is such a waste of skating tickets."

"It doesn't matter. Guess who has an unreasonable amount of money for a physics professor." Dean smirks and pulls them back to the entrance. "We can come back next week." They waddle to the benches and unlace their skates. "But, before we head back, I think perhaps this should be a more romantic affair rather than just rush through. Which is what I'm thinking is going to happen…"

Dean presses his shoulder to Cas' and instead of leaving after getting their skates off, they sit and watch the other skaters for some undeterminable amount of time. During that time, Dean has taken Castiel's hand. He's spent time memorising each finger and each scar and each wrinkle. But there's something he wants to say.

"I love you. Too. I didn't say that out on the ice. But I want to say it." Dean's eyes stay firmly on Cas' hands and he stares at the empty ring finger of his left hand.

Castiel has fallen unusually silent and Dean looks up. There's the smile that Dean loves so much. All bright eyes and slightly curled lips.

"You're right. We should get out of here. But I wouldn't worry about making it romantic. We can do that some other time. I'd be fine with that. Would you be fine with that?"

Dean nods. They pull their shoes on and head for Cas' place above his bookstore in Financial District. The walk isn't too far, then again, nothing in Manhattan is too far. But it's made in silence. Their hands stay connected the whole time.

It isn't as though they hadn't had sex before. But this time is different. And they both feel the difference. No rutting, no fucking. Just slow, carefully, calculated movements from foyer to bedroom. Each article of clothes is shed slowly as hands explore over the wide expanses of skin. They kiss deftly and gently, tongues twining, teeth nibbling.

And they join. Twining perfectly together. Kissing and pressing and pushing and gripping. And coming together. They come down and kiss and fall into a comfortable sleep until dawn.

—- —- —-

Dean awakes the next day. The tickle of black hair underneath his chin reminds him of the evening before. The ice skating, the declaration, the consummation. And he smiles. He remembers a time, a month into their relationship, that he had his 'Big Gay Freakout'. He never should have taken that out on Cas.

It was Cas' expression really, that made Dean realise just how fucking stupid he had been to even _think_ that there is someone better for him out there other than Cas. Not to say that he hadn't already been head over heels in love. But all he could think of was his brother and what he would think.

And then, he called Sam down in California and received an earful for his idiocy. And Dean now would go back to Dean then and tell him off just like Sam had. Because happiness for the sanctity of love is way better than life in black and white.

But he's heard of people losing the colour when their soulmates pass…and Dean can't even think of that now. Not in love. Not in life. Not ever. Not even if he's a hundred years old can he imagine losing the colours he's learned with Castiel Novak.

A cool hand caresses his face and Dean looks down into perfect, beautiful blue eyes and smiles. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Hello Dean." Cas nuzzles back into Dean's warmth. "Would you like to help me in the store today?"

"By help, do you mean 'sit around reading unless someone has a question'? Because that sounds awesome." Dean smiles down at Cas and runs his fingers through those black tufts of hair.

"Of course." Cas chuckles. "How could I ever mean anything else?"

Dean makes a hum of approval. "You know me best." He starts to sit up and Castiel moves off of him to accommodate his movements. "I'll make us breakfast though. I know how much you love my pancakes."

"Not as much as I love you." Cas smiles that cheesy grin of his and winks at Dean.

"You're a sap and I love it." Dean picks his boxers off the floor and pulls them on. And then his discarded shirt.

"I was hoping you'd cook naked…" Cas rolls over on the bed and watches Dean dress, the blanket draped strategically over his hips. Dean thinks he's never looked more beautiful.

"If I were an artist, I'd paint you and draw you and capture your image in anyway I could." Dean leans down and presses a kiss to Cas' lips. "Now get washed up; this breakfast is going to be amazing."

Castiel can only stare at Dean in amazement. Nine months in, and Dean is still saying things that Cas would never have expected him to say. "Okay." He managed to mumble out.

"Good. I'll meet you in the kitchen." And then Dean leaves.

Cas lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He could live like this for the rest of his life.

—- —- —-

It is really no surprise when they decide to put Dean's house in Brooklyn up for sale and move in together. It's no surprise when Dean proposes in the Museum of Modern Art for their two year anniversary. It's no surprise when Dean gets his tenure for teaching. Or when he finally makes a breakthrough on his research for quantum mechanics. Or when Cas finally learns how to ice skate.

And it's no surprise that they spent the rest of their lives together. Until one day, the colour in Castiel's world vanishes when he's in his nineties. And he closes his eyes for the last time a few days later.

It's no surprise that they were soulmates and that they were meant to stay together until the very end.

_A/N: Originally, I was going to kill off one of them in their forties, but I couldn't do it. But this ending is sad enough. I hope you liked it 3 As always, I love reviews and stuff! And if you want me to write something more about this timeline, I will. But only specific ideas please. Love always, Pyxie xx_


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